


sweet summer night

by thesaddestboner



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Detroit Red Wings, F/M, Friendship, Gen, No Plot/Plotless, Non-Famous Family Members As Characters, Not Beta Read, Summer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-05
Updated: 2014-05-05
Packaged: 2018-01-22 01:38:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1571240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesaddestboner/pseuds/thesaddestboner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>They had barbecues in the summer, every summer since they’d known each other.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	sweet summer night

**Author's Note:**

> I started this a few years ago. One section was written in like 2008, the other in 2009, and the rest in 2014. Oops. The bit about the Swedish reality show with Hank and Emma is, as far as I know, something that actually happened.
> 
> It's kind of plotless but I'm posting this because I finally finished something.
> 
> Title from “Summertime Clothes,” by Animal Collective.
> 
> You can find me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/thesaddestboner) and [tumblr](http://saddestboner.tumblr.com).

They had barbecues in the summer, every summer since they’d known each other. 

Pavel had a beautiful white house with a white picket fence and acres of green grass that Elizabeth and her puppy could romp on. Svetlana always complained that Elizabeth’s pretty dresses were permanently stained green because of the grass, and her daughter’s energetic nature. Svetlana was always smiling as she said it, though. Hank didn’t think she really minded.

It was a perfect day with the sun high in the blue sky, vibrating its warmth. Hank could feel it pulse against his cheeks when he turned his face up toward the sun and closed his eyes. The weather was just starting to turn. Crisp, brisk spring was slowly giving way to the warmth of summer. It was a perfect day for a barbecue.

Svetlana and Emma went into the kitchen and chopped up lettuce and tomatoes for salads. They talked with their hands about the latest developments on the soap operas they both watched. Pavel flipped hamburger patties with a stainless steel spatula and drank cheap American beer. He had on an apron with **KISS THE CHEF** emblazoned across the chest.

While Pavel flipped his hamburger patties and drank his beer, Hank pushed Elizabeth on her swing until she chased the birds from the treetops with her high pitched, happy squeals.

Elizabeth jumped off the swing and stained the bottom of her lace dress with grass. Svetlana poked her head out the open screen door and pointed a spatula at her. She scolded Elizabeth in clipped Russian, but she was smiling as she did it. 

Elizabeth giggled, unrepentant, and clapped her chubby little hands gleefully. “Mama!”

Hank crawled into the hammock on the porch and watched Pavel flip burgers. Every now and then, he paused to sip his shitty beer. Emma sauntered out of the kitchen and placed a damp bottle of beer on a felt coaster by Hank’s arm. 

Hank looked up and squinted; Emma was standing over him, the sunlight at her back, steeped in shadows, wavy dark hair tipped in gold. He held a hand out to her, smiling slowly, and she sat beside him in the hammock. Emma pillowed her head on his shoulder without a word and his hand went to her knee automatically. Hank rocked them slowly in the hammock with the tips of his toes until Emma was lulled into a light sleep on his strong shoulder. Hank closed his eyes and tipped his head toward hers.

“Hamburgers almost done.” Pavel’s voice cut through the clinging cobwebs of sleep. Hank opened his eyes; Pavel stood over the two of them, a fresh bottle of beer in one hand and a spatula in the other. 

Hank smiled at Pavel and nodded a little against Emma’s forehead. 

Pavel smiled back and headed inside, the soles of his shoes thumping on the floorboards and making them creak.

-

After dinner was finished and all the food had been eaten, Svetlana gathered Elizabeth in her arms and took her into the house to put her to bed. Pavel and Hank cleared the table in companionable silence, side by side. Hank listened to the crackling hiss of the mosquito lantern outside the screen door, the soft rustle of the tablecloth as they disturbed it, the clacking as they stacked up plates. He heard crickets chirping their music unendingly.

Pavel bunched up the tablecloth in his hands. “Me and Svetlana are going home, to Russia,” Pavel said suddenly, and they had been quiet for so long, working shoulder-to-shoulder, that Hank wasn’t sure he was even talking to him. “For Liza’s birthday.”

“Sounds like fun,” Hank said, glancing over at Pavel. Swaying paper lanterns, blown by a faint breeze, caused the light to dance across Pavel’s face, casting him in shadows.

“You and Emma come too,” Pavel said, reaching out, patting Hank on the back. “Will be fun.” 

Hank took the tablecloth out of Pavel’s hands and shook the crumbs out. “We’re going to go back to Sweden for the summer,” Hank explained, feeling inexplicably guilty, as he folded up the tablecloth. “There’s a TV program in Sweden that wants to do a feature on us.”

Pavel made a funny face then, nose wrinkling. “Like reality show?”

“Yeah, kind of,” Hank said.

Pavel shook his head, chuffing dismissively. “You come back with big head? Like a celebrity?”

Hank laughed. “I’ll still be me, Pavs.”

“So the answer yes, then?” Pavel teased him, leaning over, nudging him in the shoulder with his own.

Hank rolled his eyes and pushed him back. “I’ll send you a postcard.”

The only response he got was laughter.

-

Hank watched warily as video crews puttered around the kitchen of his home, long black cords trailing behind them. When he looked up, he spotted Emma standing in front of the panoramic window. She had her head tipped back slightly, eyes closed, as a makeup artist dabbed at her chin with a cotton ball. An attendant flitted around both of them, straightening Emma’s sheer blouse and draping a curl of her dark brown hair over her shoulder _just so_.

Hank laughed at the absurdity of it, of his wife having her makeup and clothing touched up in the living room of her own home while camera crews set up shop in the kitchen.

When Hank looked away, he realized one of the makeup artists was heading in his direction. He grabbed his cell phone and ducked away to the bathroom, where he was certain no one would bother him.

Once he was safely inside, he flipped open his phone and fired off a text to Pavel.

**maybe u were right, should have gone to russia**

A few minutes later, he got a carefully worded reply:

**I am always right)))))) See you in Detroit for training.**

Hank smiled, typed out a reply— **sure thing Pavs** —and tucked his phone in his pocket. After checking his hair in the mirror and running his fingers through his beard, he turned off the light and ventured into the wild.

It would be all right. He’d see Pavel in a few weeks, for their pre-training camp skate. He could deal with a little bit more summer until then.

**Author's Note:**

> The author of this piece intends no insult, slander, or copyright infringement, and is not profiting from this work. This story is a complete work of fiction and does not necessarily reflect on the nature of the individuals featured. This is for entertainment purposes only. If you found this story while Googling your name or the names of your friends, hit the back button now.


End file.
